


The Consummate Hero

by 42gabi24



Category: Bleach
Genre: BAMF Kurosaki Ichigo, Disabled Character, Future Rangiku x Gin maybe, Gen, Kurosaki Ichigo Needs a Hug, Non-Linear Narrative, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:48:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23069497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/42gabi24/pseuds/42gabi24
Summary: "Who are ya?" Asked Gin, his squinty eyes wide open.The Shinigami patted his head and hoisted Rangiku higher on his shoulder."You two should rest, I bet Aizen didn't think of your survival when he released his spiritual pressure."For once, his paranoia didn't rear its ugly head- then again, a little hysterical voice in his head laughed, what could he do against the man who killed a member of the Gotei 13?
Relationships: Abarai Renji & Kurosaki Ichigo, Ichimaru Gin & Kurosaki Ichigo, Kurosaki Ichigo & Urahara Kisuke
Comments: 57
Kudos: 399





	1. Cultivate your hunger before you idealize

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration struck and I love time-travel fix-it stories, what can I say?
> 
> By the way this story is not planned at all, so beware.

Gin was good at hiding, he really was, and hiding in plain sight was the best way to hide. At least that was what Ichigo said…

“Come on brat, don’t slack off!” The supervisor’s punch was perfectly aimed at his head and the only thing that softened the consecutive blow was his instinct to follow the cruel fist’s inertia.

“Y-yes, Mikoto-san.” He muttered from the folds of his tattered haori.

The supervisor tsked in disdain as Gin clutched his head with his wet hands. He pressed his forehead to the cool floor, hoping to distract himself from the agonizing pain, all the while repeating the mantra of ‘ _Rangiku needs this’_.

“The Shihouin clan are coming in two days, we need these floors pristine and respectable for our guests. If I find a single spot, I'll have you thrown in the highest district of Rukongai.” Mikoto declared for the whole courtyard of servants to hear. Several exclamations of ‘Yes, Mikoto-san’ rang amongst the kneeling staff while Gin wondered how the hell could a floor be respectable. He lowered his hands from the goose egg that was forming under his skin and resumed scrubbing until his fingers pruned up and his knuckles began to bleed.

Later on he would stumble his way to the servant barracks with two stale loaves of bread and a smile. 

“Rangiku, I’m back!”

“Gin? It’s late… did they keep you for too long again?” Rangiku poked her frowning face from their small bathroom. Sightless eyes roamed around their room as if capable of finding him in the darkness of their shared quarters. Gin shook his head even if she wouldn’t be able to see him.

“Nah, I just swiped some bread from the kitchens, you wouldn’t believe what they throw away.”

Her nose scrunched as Gin threw himself on his side of the bed. The hard mattress barely dipped under his weight but he didn’t pay any mind to the uncomfortable surface. He patiently watched as Rangiku felt her way to him, using the walls as guides.

“You’re getting better at this.” Her pale irises landed on his shoulder with a blinding smile. Confident that what she felt was the edge of the bed, the strawberry-blonde threw herself over him with an enthusiastic ’aha’. Gin grunted as Rangiku’s bony elbow landed right on his stomach, careful not to drop the food he lifted the breads above his head as his friend shifted in a more comfortable position.

“Never do that again.”

“Sorry.” She didn’t sound sorry at all.

“Ugh, here.” He took her hand in to his and placed the lump of dry dough in her palm.

“Oooh, rice bread.” Rangiku exclaimed as she stuffed a crumbly piece in her mouth.

“It’s the expensive kind. I found it in the trash.” The blonde’s nose scrunched as she shoved down the entire half of her piece.

“I hate them. It’s perfectly good to eat.”

“That’s shinigami to ya’.”

“Sushi eaters.”

He hummed in agreement. They finished dinner in silence.

“How’s it going with honorable Jitou-sama?” Gin pronounced the name of the stuck up noble with disdain. Rangiku sighed.

“It’s fine, she likes me because I’m pretty, but she also hates me because I’m blind and useless.”

Gin jumped from his relaxed position against the headboard. He couldn’t pinpoint where Rangiku’s face was due to the darkness of their room, but he still made himself look as stern as possible.

“Don’t say that.”

“What? It’s true.”

“You’re not useless, Rangiku. I don’t want to hear you speak like that ever again.”

“Gin,” The blonde huffed. 

“I mean it- you’re not.” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word. Gin was being honest. Admittedly Rukongai brats like them didn’t have many skills to begin with, but his friend had many useful abilities even after she lost her sight. Sewing, foraging, haggling.. All things she was better at than him. Gin could only scrub floors and evade mean punches. Rangiku didn't argue further but he felt that the issue wasn't resolved. No matter, they had plenty of time to solve everything now.

“Well- at least I’m pretty.”

Gin scowled in the dark.

“Yeah, but is that all she wants you for?”

“I guess? It makes her look good, and she has like dozen other maids to serve her tea or whatever. I have to stand and be pretty- but not _too_ pretty.” She explained sounding like she was quoting someone, probably Jitou herself.

Gin nodded absentmindedly. Rangiku called him over-protective, but he liked to use the word cautious.

“And you?”

“Hmm?”

"Don't play dumb. I know that supervisors are terrible, Maya used to work in the kitchens."

Gin winced, unwilling to tell Rangiku of the extra hours he took to keep up with his quota- their quota, Rangiku couldn't work and the promise of two meals a day, anonymity and protection had been too good to pass up. 

“It’s tiring and I have get up early before the Shihoins arrive, so good night.”

Judging by the hurt silence he’d been more curt than he meant to. Gin swallowed his apology and dived under the covers, pouty Rangiku was better than a sad Rangiku.

* * *

“Ichigo,” The teen startled, bloody-knuckled hand twitching towards the tanto on his hip. An unusually slow reaction, but at that point survival had no meaning. Killing Kisuke now would ensure that he could enter the reincarnation cycle at least. Shaking of the morbid thoughts the scientist didn’t bother with a reaction at the violent gesture, instead setting a careful hand on his former student’s shoulder. “Ichigo, are you alright?”

The teen shook his head, as if coming out of a trance. He stayed silent, gaze returning to Shinji’s prone form. The hole in his chest was something that not even Hierro could cure. The Visored looked peaceful at last, he lost the will to fight long before he died, so Kisuke suspected that death was welcome. His friend was tired, and the scientist would be glad to lay him to rest finally. 

“Yeah.” Ichigo blinked slowly. He rose from his haphazard sprawl on the stone floor beneath them. 

It was a stupid question to ask, but Kisuke was done pretending all of this wasn’t happening. In the beginning it was easy to pretend that Yhwach survived by a fluke. Ichigo would swoop right in, Tensa Zangetsu in hand and he would deal the final blow to end the war once and for all. Except that blow never came, and their allies began to die one by one in the cruelest ways possible.

They should’ve never trusted Aizen.

“We have to go.” Ichigo muttered, after the brief silence. Shinji’s corpse had begun to disintegrate in reishi particles and neither of them wanted to linger any longer.

They returned to the shoten in no time. He wondered if it was worth it, it was just the two of them. Leaving Karakura had been up in the air since Aizen started to hunt down… everyone. But they never left and no one survived to prompt them to do so, not Quincy, not Shinigami and certainly not the Arrancar. Aizen wanted to make sure he was starting out with a clean slate without untied ends and possible enemies that could rise up against him.

Kisuke could almost commended the former shinigami for his tenaciousness. The opportunist in him marveled at the _perfection_ of the aligned circumstances that allowed Aizen to complete his plan after all those years. The person in him wailed at all the lives that had been lost- some even permanently, cut from the cycle of reincarnation as punishment for their crimes against the megalomaniac turned Soul King.

“Ichigo, I have a plan.” The scientist’s voice came out breathy, as if he were whispering a secret. The substitute shinigami inclined his head towards him in the darkness of the laboratory. Kisuke thought he could feel hope through Ichigo's wavering reiatsu.

* * *

  
  
"Rangiku!" Gin couldn't get to her fast enough even if he traveled at the speed of light. He jumped down from the rock he'd been standing on, uncaring of the distance between him and the ground. He came to regret it when he kissed the floor in all of its dusty glory but he grit his bloody teeth through the pain. Rangiku was more important than his denture.

"Gin, it hurts!" Her shriek of panic was the scariest thing he's ever heard. He grabbed her wrists as she tried to claw her eyes out. He lifted her struggling arms away from her face to see what was wrong. He wished he hadn't. Rangiku's previously baby-blue eyes had turned milky from whatever that bespectacled shinigami had done to her. Blood streamed down her cheeks from where she had tried to scratch away the pain.

"Gin," She whimpered.

His voice died down in his throat before he could answer as his body was slammed on the floor by an immense pressure. He tried to take a deep breath feeling Rangiku squirm under his weight, but the air had gotten too dense to pass through his lungs. He gasped and struggled to get up to no avail, hoping that Rangiku's insisting pushing helped him fight the weight on him. Dark spots danced across his vision from the lack of oxygen, he was sure they would die shortly.

Gin's arm scrambled uncoordinatedly, searching for the blonde's dirty one. He intertwined their fingers, hoping the touch brought comfort.

Then the pressure stopped. All remained silent for what felt like hours. Disoriented and more than confused, Gin tried to get up on wobbly elbows to no avail.

"Ah, I didn't expect to see you two." Gin collapsed under his own weight, wincing at Rangiku's pained wheeze and consequent silence. "Oh- what did that bastard do?"

"Stay away!" Gin's legs wouldn't cooperate with him but he managed to throw himself protectively over the strawberry-blonde under him.

"Whoa," The new arrival muttered. Gin didn't dare to turn around, that bastard would have to stab him in the back first. "Um, I don't know what you think I'll do, but I can assure you that I most certainly wouldn't hurt you."

Silence.

"Nice one Ichigo, you fucking dumbass." The man- Ichigo (Strawberry?), muttered under his breath. If Gin didn't think he was a threat now, he would eat his sandal. The man cleared his throat. "Hey, uh, Aizen, he-the one who did this to your friend, is dead. I killed him, and I can help her with her wounds, if you want me to."

Gin's eyes opened a fraction, out of the intruder's sight. He sounded like a shinigami, except that from what Gin knew, the shinigami didn't have fights to the death amongst each other. "Why would ya do that?"

"...They've really done a number on you huh? I do it because I'm the only responsible adult here- apparently." Gin had no chance of stopping the shinigami when the much man advanced towards them. He curled his body tightly against Rangiku and hoped that their death would be quick. A pair of strong hands lifted him up around the waist as if he weighed nothing. He struggled weakly but the iron-like grip left it pretty clear that he wouldn't be getting anywhere, unless the shinigami wished so.

"There we go." Without a single sound of exertion, Gin found himself on the shinigami's shoulder.

"My name is Ichigo, by the way."

He didn't say a thing, hoping that the man would hurry up and kill them.

They turned their sights on Rangiku. Whatever that pressure was, it had knocked the blonde out pretty quickly, which let Ichigo examine her face easily. The shigami hissed quietly, pressing two fingers to her neck.

"What? Is she dyin'?" His heart _squeezed_ at the notion.

"What? No. I think not, it's just... look I'm sorry kid, I wish I knew more about healing kido." Ichigo said with a hint of regret in his voice. "I can't do anything for her except to heal the scratches, I think she's blind permanently."

"Oh," He'd expected as much, not even the best healers in all Rukongai could heal blindness. At this point he wondered if it would be better to let her die, he was no god, food was already scarce. "...oh."

"I'm really sorry."

"Why?" He blinked puzzledly at the man. It was established that he wouldn't kill them immediately, so why bother? "Ya don't stop sayin' sorry, but you're the one offering to heal her."

"...It doesn't matter." He said before a green glow enveloped his hands. Gin blinked at the weird magic happening in front of him. When Ichigo said he's heal Rangiku he thought he wanted to wrap her eyes in bandages, not use some weird shinigami powers on her.

His gut feeling told him he was getting involved in something so beyond him that it wasn't even funny.

"Who are ya?" Asked Gin, his squinty eyes wide open. Ichigo muttered something to himself, strong brow furrowed in concentration as he waved his glowing hands over Rangiku's eyes and cheeks. Somehow Gin wasn't surprised when his hands moved away to reveal the smooth-faced girl he found starving on the street.

The Shinigami patted his head and hoisted Rangiku on his shoulder.

"You two should rest, I bet Aizen didn't think of your survival when he released his spiritual pressure." Gin squinted at the man's lack of response to his question. But then again, who gave free information in Rukongai? Everything had a price and Gin didn't think he could pay it, not now nor ever.

For once, his paranoia didn't rear its ugly head, instead, a little hysterical voice in his head laughed. What could he do against the man who killed a member of the Gotei 13?


	2. Motivate your anger to make them all realize

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> REVIEWED ON 22nd of March, 2020 because yours truly can't write.

The way to the inner districts of Rukongai was long and tedious when minding two children. Ichigo wouldn't say he minded particularly, protecting and caring for the defenceless was the reason he was alive.

Ichimaru - _Ichimaru Gin of all souls-_ sniffed in his sleep, head tucked against Matsumoto's side. It was weird, and Ichigo's seen _weird_ , but the scene in front of him took the cake. Twenty districts inside Soul Society and he still couldn't get over the fact that these two were so tiny. 

Rangiku's confident femininity was gone, and Ichimaru's cunning squint was nowhere to be seen no matter how smart he thought himself. 

It was fair, he supposed. He was as far from home as he could ever be, the familiar faces would be just that- familiar. Ichigo shook the consequent train of thought off, grief was the furthest thing he wanted to dwell on. He had a duty.

Food was easy to find if one knew where to look. Rukongai had plenty of lush forests filled to the brim with game. Boars and dears of all sizes strutted through the empty fields completely unbothered by the uninterested population and ready for the grabs.

Renji and Yoruichi didn't play around during survival training. Catching, skinning and gutting was done on autopilot after years of scavenging. Setting up a fire to cook was just as easy in the mouth of the little cave he'd found the night before.

The smell of freshly cooked meat rose the two tag-alongs from their exhausted slumber. He didn't tell Ichimaru, but beside the blindness- _Fuck Aizen-_ Rangiku had come very close to getting herself fried by Aizen's spiritual pressure. Ichimaru too, but judging by their future positions in the Gotei, he was slightly more powerful than the blonde. 

Rangiku, on the other hand, had almost suffocated to death where he had only gotten close to losing consciousness. Ichigo was impressed. While Aizen had yet to reach his limits- _and now he never would-_ he was most certainly well past beyond captain-level, and the two children felt the full brunt of his reiatsu and they survived.

"Good morning." 

Ichimaru's eyes goggled in bewilderment. Hilarious. 

"Wha'? What is tha' Where did ya get so much meat?"

"I hunted, you should try it sometimes." 

The boy stumbled out of Ichigo's dusty haori that had served as both matress and blanket for the night. His bare feet slapped ungracefully against the stone floor as he approached the dying fire with a look of pure adoration. Ichigo observed the spectacle while he stuffed chunks of boar in his mouth.

* * *

"Kisuke, explain."

The scientist didn't seem to acknowledge Ichigo, his head buried in countless calculation sheets strewn around his metal desk. The shinigami substitute fidgeted in place, reluctant to pull a chair and sit down. He never liked to spend much time in Kisuke’s lab, it was _his_ territory. In essence, untouchable and private, Ichigo felt like an intruder.

With a final 'aha' Kisuke pulled out the item he was looking for. Ichigo's heart skipped a beat, for a moment he thought his single worst nightmare had come true and Kisuke had created another Hogyoku. 

"This is the earliest prototype for the Hogyoku." He said, showcasing a small, blue-tinged crystal all the while confirming Ichigo’s suspicions. He slammed his fist on the closest surface, shards of glass and droplets of chemicals frying in the air. 

"Damn it Kisuke, haven't you learned your lesson!" 

No one moved. Ichigo let his anger prod at the dormant reiatsu that was his inner Hollow. The air in the cramped room grew thick with raw instinct and empty despair. 

"It's a prototype," The former shop-keeper explained with a neutral tone. Ichigo took the warning for what it was and stifled his knee-jerk reaction. The corrosive reiatsu died a shameful death under his former teacher’s grey gaze. They resumed as if nothing happened.

"As I said, this hogyoku is a prototype. Meaning, it's powers are rudimentary at best… volatile at worst."

"What does that _mean_?" Ichigo grit through his teeth as he observed the damage to his hand. He hissed at the various cuts and chemical burns that were developing quickly on his skin.

"It means that it can't do even half of what the final Hogyoku could- or the one Aizen created."

"...And?" Blood began to pool on his feet, but the pain had stopped so it didn't matter.

"And nothing, I'll explain later, it's not that innovative. Maa, Ichigo, I didn't think you would have such a violent reaction."

"I'm sorry. Jeez, I didn't mean to. Look at the mess I made." He scratched his head with his good hand while Kisuke inspected the injured one. "I'm sorry."

Kisuke pursed his lips, he might as well slapped the teen in the face.

"...I didn't take you for a person to say sorry when you're right either."

The substitute shinigami squinted in confusion. "What?"

"I'm like a bad artist. I don't know when to stop. Every flaw must have a solution even if what I'm actually doing is adding more paint to the finished painting."

"...I always thought your sense of aesthetic was terrible."

A single risen eyebrow and a vicious swipe on a particularly deep cut was the only answer. Where did he pull the gauze from?

"Ow-ow sorry! The training basement has a tasteful decor, happy?"

"Ichigo, it's just rock."

"Exactly."

"Ow! Stop!"

* * *

“The beef is too dry, can’t you taste it?”

“Do us a favour and close your mouth Hinako, it’s as if you _want_ us at war with the Kuchikis.”

“...Forgive me, Beben-sama.”

Gin clutched the tray for dear life and moved on- Mikoto didn’t speak of the few servants that messed up in public. He placed the heavy thing at the elbow of some minder or other, he was too scrawny to look presentable in front of esteemed guests, after all. Whatever _esteemed and presentable meant._

Service was slow and tedious work, the funniest part was that he didn’t know what were they here for in the first place. Gin was talking about the Shinigami, of course, dark-skinned like anko or pale like moonlight, all obnoxious, all fucking unpleasant to be around.

The former Rukongai scavenger stared at the food on the table with envy from behind the doors to the kitchens. Meats, fruits, vegetables _,_ desserts and confectionary, elaborate dishes, freshly cooked rice. Rats like him could only dream.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit.” A servant came inside the kitchens looking like he was dipped in water, fat drops of sweat rolled down the teenager’s forehead as he approached an overseer. The two whispered furiously at each other in one corner of the bustling nightmare of a room, just far enough to make it impossible to eavesdrop.

“Oh, you think you can order me around?” Asked the minder with an enraged sneer. The servant mumbled something incomprehensible which the supervisor didn’t bother to listen. “I don’t need excuses, out of my sight- you’re disgusting, I don’t know how Mai-san let you serve like this.”

The servant scurried past Gin inadvertently leading the minder’s attention to him. Gin cursed, looking for a quick exit, alas it was never meant to be.

“You there, come.” The minder ordered, curling his long finger in a ‘come hither’ motion that rose Gin’s proverbial hackles. He shuffled his way to the older man, careful to avoid the rushing cooks and servants. Gin stood at attention as the waif-like man roamed his evaluating gaze over him from head to toe. Apparently satisfied with his observations, the man tsked. “You’ll do, follow me.”

He was led to a small storage room filled with servant uniforms. The supervisor searched around for the uniform he needed, much to Gin’s mounting realization. Horror set in soon after. A light blue yukata embroidered with the Kuchiki clan symbol landed on his head, followed by an obi of the same colour and a pair of white vambraces signature of the serving class.

“Dress, I want you here in five- or else.”

Threat made and duty done with for the moment, the supervisor slid away, leaving Gin alone in the dark room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Beben is the onomatopoeia for the sound a shimasen makes. Fun fact, Beben-sama has a twin sister that is seating somewhere among the guests called Dodon, the sound effect for a great reveal.  
> *The vambraces Gin mentions are just like the ones Rukia and Byakuya wore during the last arc or so, for those caught up in the manga. Personal headcanon, they were a sign of solidarity during Soul Society and the Kuchiki clan's time of great loss as a symbol that says that they, as shinigami, are the ones serving the people and are part of the serving class.


	3. Climbing the mountains, never coming down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome, to the wish fulfilling massacre I did to canon. To those who left kudos and are getting invested please keep in mind that I haven't planned anything for this story, no ending, no nothing. 
> 
> Firstly, I've twisted the timeline for my own purposes, which is why events happen at the same time when they didn't before and the characters' ages are all wrong.
> 
> Secondly, if you have any questions- be it meta or headcanons- or you simply wish at scream to me on social media, visit my Tumblr (Where you can leave asks) and my Twitter (Where my DMs are open) which are linked in my Profile.

The yukata fit well enough and the vambraces were the most uncomfortable things Gin’s ever worn in his afterlife. The supervisor seemed to think the same way, judging by the accepting ‘tsk’.

“Take it. Don’t spill it, or I won’t be responsible for what happens to you.” The older man placed a tray laden with different dishes and bowls that were way heavier than the once Gin passed around in the kitchen. 

“I hope someone drilled basic serving etiquette, if not you better watch and learn. Now,” The supervisor lowered himself on Gin’s eye-level with a no-nonsense expression. “I want you to engrave in that empty skull of yours that you’ll be serving the main branches of four of the most influential families in this world. One wrong step and they’ll never even find what’s left of your body.”

Gin’s stomach fell to his feet, _he didn’t sign up for this._ Excuses of all kinds began to pop in his head as he tried to keep his absolute terror to himself. The threat was effective, at least, he could feel his breath shortening and hand begin to shake. 

“Go.” He obeyed silently with an accepting nod of his head. He allowed himself a look of hidden horror in the small interval between kitchen and dining hall. 

From then on he floundered. He didn’t know where to go, or whom to follow, all previous hunger he felt evaporated as something heavy settled at the bottom of his stomach.

Finally, he recognized the reason all these people gathered in the Kuchiki manor on this specific day. Kuchiki Byakuya stood prim and poised on the table designed for him and his family, unbothered by Gin’s crippling inexperience. The birthday boy spoke quietly with his relatives and other friends, including the Shihouin heirs and other nobles Gin couldn’t name to save his life. 

Serving was a puzzle. Left- right, spoon- chopsticks, closer- farther, look- don’t look. He was bound to make a mistake, especially once he felt the Shihouin heiress’ yellow eyes on him. Later as he tucked himself next to Rangiku in their room, Gin would realize that the burning gaze he felt crawling up to his face wasn’t Shihouin’s, but the Kuchiki heir’s assessing gaze seconds before disaster.

It wasn’t fast, Gin even thought he had time to react if he were faster, but the broth he balanced in his shaking hands tipped over right into the Kuchiki heir’s lap. 

Everything stopped.

Startled grey eyes met his in a moment of mutual misery.

* * *

Gin’s never eaten better food in his life. The _cooked_ meat in his hands smelled so good he might’ve cried a little. Waking up Rangiku had been one of the most traumatizing experiences in his life, his companion’s confusion on her new situation was difficult to explain at best. The blonde began to cry after the orange-haired man’s inelegant explanation and let's say that Gin’s never seen a shinigami look so afraid in his entire afterlife. 

Speaking of the shinigami, that man was a virtual mystery. As far as appearances went he was rather normal-looking. His hair was orange and long, tied into a thin braid that reached his waist. The clothes he wore, while tattered to rags were still recognizably a shinigami’s uniform.

Other than that, nothing. Ichigo’s swords were sheathed on his hip and back, intimidating weapons, fit for murder and rather unique from other shinigami’s he’d ever seen, yet in a neutral position. Despite that, Gin knew the shinigami was no joke. No one got that many sword scars by lazing around in the higher districts, Ichigo was dangerous and experienced.

“What are you looking at?”

Gin choked on the hefty chunk of meat he was swallowing.

“Nothin’.”

Ichigo gave him a small, barely-there smile. Gin would think it mocking except no one had ever smiled at him so the nuances were lost.

“Ichimaru, I don’t think you realize how transparent you are. Your eyes give you away.”

The boy startled, instincts going hairware with sudden realization. 

“How did ya know my name?”

The shinigami’s face morphed into surprise that disappeared in a blink of an eye. The slow smile returned **,** **making** Gin’s suspicions **rise**.

“Oh I know a lot of things, Ichimaru Gin.”

“Creepy fucker.”

The shinigami sputtered in surprise. “What?”

“Stalker.” Gin continued, trying not to let his histeria wake up an exhausted Ragiku.

“I-I-”

“You’re here ta’ recruit us for the academy, huh? Or worse.”

“What?! N **o**!” The shinigami stood up with a look of dismay. Gin scrambled back, killing a piece of his soul by letting the mead drop on the cave-floor. “Kid, seriously, calm down. I’m here by pure accident. I technically didn’t even know you existed.”

“Tha’ makes it worse! What do ya mean ‘technically’? Usin’ big words ta confuse me doesn’t work!”

“Oh man.” The man sighed. “You’re so… ugh.”

“No, you’re ‘ugh’.” Sticking his tongue out has never felt more right as it had in that moment. It was funny to see the shinigami’s face contorting into the weirdest expression, as if he was about to sneeze. For a moment, Gin though he was going to get hit for his sass, it wasn’t the first time an adult didn’t find his backtalk funny. But Ichigo simply dropped his head in his hands with a low chuckle.

“Unbelievable.”

Gin fidgeted at the following silence. Rangiku was still asleep at least. “So… are ya gonna kill us?”

“No.” The answer was curt. Of all things to offend the shinigami…

“What then? Are we goin’ ta the Academy?”

“If you want to?” Ichigo’s expression was dubious, if not reluctant. Gin didn’t want to go either, if he were honest. “I agreed to take you to the first districts, it’s the easiest way to find a job and make a living in Rukongai, but I can… maybe find you and Rangiku a sponsor for the Academy?”

“You would do tha’? For Rangiku too?” ‘Sponsor’ wasn’t a concept he was familiar with, but it sounded like a huge favor nonetheless, finding one for Rangiku might even be impossible now.

The shinigami looked at him weird, long calloused fingers playing with the stray orange strands that had fallen loose from his braid.

“Of course, I agreed to take care of you, didn’t I?” A slow smile, far more bitter than what Gin would’ve imagined, curled on the older’s face.

“You’re yankin’ my chain aren’t ya?”

“Lies are above my skill set.”

Absolutely unlikely, but Gin let it slide.

_(It’s just that he wanted to believe the shinigami real bad.)_

* * *

“That’s the worst plan I’ve ever heard.”

Kisuke went to protest, indignant, but Ichigo steamrolled past the fake outrage.

“-And I’ve seen my fair share of terrible plans. The Renji-Grimmjow attack squad back in 2020, anyone? Oh! How about that minor scheme of yours that ended in _breaking into Soul Society with nothing but my two friends, my rival and a cat?”_

“Oh come on!” The scientist’s hand twitched to grab a fan he couldn’t possibly store in his knock-off Onmitsukido uniform. “I thought we went over this!”

“Yeah, I forgave you, but fuck me if I ever forget!”

“You agreed to it!”

“Because I had no idea of what I was getting myself into!”

Pouting was a perfectly mature answer to that particular slight, it seemed. Ichigo didn’t pay any attention to the scientist’s childish antics, instead, the younger shinigami was perusing the map in his hands with a single-minded intensity Kisuke had always admired. 

“Attacking Aizen directly is the last thing I want to do right now. I’m perfectly fine with hiding.”

Kisuke scoffed. Once upon a time that could be one of the most outrageous statements he’d ever heard from the teen, but war changed Ichigo as much as it solidified his core characteristics.

“You mean you want _me_ to hide… possibly for the rest of my long, long life.”

The teen flipped the atlas in his hands absentmindedly. Something in Kisuke flashed red in anger, perhaps petulant that he wasn’t getting his way. Benihime hissed at the back of his mind like a scorned snake.

“Ideally.”

He opened his mouth to protest, as Ichigo tossed the book in his hands away with a put upon sigh.

“Shinji is gone.”

Kisuke flinched as if he’d been slapped.

“With Shinji gone,” Ichigo continued, “You’re the only one I have left, now.” Something that might have been tears crept up Ichigo’s voice, but the scientist knew he didn’t have enough left to be the case. Kisuke pretended not to hear the tangible sorrow, or Ichigo’s subtle attempts to wipe the tears away.

* * *

“So, let me get this straight. A Hollow, weak enough to go undetected by Urahara’s sensors… managed to kill my second in command, _and_ his squad?”

The reporting officer’s expression didn’t change in front of Shinji’s expression of disbelief. His stance exuded ‘I’m just the messenger’ energy that remained unshaken through her years of service in the Gotei 13.

“Yes sir, Captain Urahara’s autopsy reports seemed pretty contundent to me, Captain Unohana will release her observations soon after. The analysis detected large amounts of Hollow reiatsu both on, and around Vice-Captain Aizen’s body. The results were inconclusive on the other officers’, but the Captain of the Twelth is working on a possible explanation.”

“Huh, can’t believe it.” Shinji blurted. It was inappropriate at best because he was _supposed_ to feel bad for his subordinate’s untimely demise, but mostly the Captain of the Fifth felt confused- Confused, bewildered, downright baffled. All synonyms that may or may not be the result of shock.

“... The funeral will be held in a fortnight if you wish to attend.”

“Understood, you can return to your duties.” 

The messenger left with a shallow bow, leaving Shinji alone to his musings. The Captain pushed away the mounting piles of paperwork on his desk and wondered where was Urahara at this time of the day.

* * *

Urahara was where he always was. Shinji felt vaguely moronic for asking the question in the first place. The Twelfth was as chaotic as ever, maybe even more so after the Aizen stunt, but Shinji didn’t let the complete disorder bother him.

The main laboratory- Urahara’s laboratory, was always open for visitors, the scientist didn’t really bother with secrecy despite his background as an Onmitsukido. Rumor had it the reason he got uninterrupted privacy was sheer fear from the ethically questionable experiments held inside, but Shinji preferred to _not_ think about that too much.

“Heeeey,” He greeted the hunched figure behind a mountain of wasted paper.

“Ah, Hirako-san, I’ve been waiting for you.” An ashy-blond head poked behind the equivalent of twenty trees in paperwork. “I’m afraid that my investigation has been delayed by some… extenuating circumstances.”

“I can see Sarugaki’s footprint on your chest Urahara, you’re not fooling anyone.”

The scientist’s only answer was a weird chuckle Shinji was afraid he would hear in his nightmares. Good to know he wasn’t the one getting fucked by Aizen’s mess, at least. Alas, patience was for chumps so he inchanted a low-level fire Kido that incinerated Urahara’s remaining will to live together with the paperwork. The Captain of the Twelfth threw away the fountain pen he had been using somewhere behind him. 

“I will sic Sarugaki on you.” Urahara winced as soon as the words left his mouth, knowing he’d set himself up. Shinji grinned, patting away at the non-existant ash that clung to his haori.

“Don’t bother, just tell her to leave the window open, I’ll figure myself out.”

“Crude as always Captain Hirako.”

Urahara got up from his charred desk, abandoning the carefree attitude. 

“The results don’t make any sense.” The scientist began his explanation, fiddling with some keyboards strewn haphazardly on several desks around a single wall filled with screens. Buttons and levers Shinji couldn’t puzzle out the function to, were pressed and pulled to bring several screens to life. “Aizen was indeed killed by a Hollow for all intents, constructions, and purposes- perfectly believable to the rest of the Gotei.”

“Impossible if you know the truth.” Concluded Shinji, there was no way that the sneaky little brat was going on a patrol to Rukongai, Aizen had been planning something. Urahara’s harumph was the only agreement he received as he concentrated on the data in front of him.

“Whomever had done this, made a conscious effort to appear Hollow. We can see slashes from claw-like blades- presumably the Hollow’s- all over Aizen, yet the wounds on his men are made with a blade.” He said pointing out at the images on the screen. Shinji avoided his eyes from the grotesque wounds without hesitation.

“Maybe Aizen killed them.” 

“No, not necessarily, minions are hard to come-by. I have several working theories, however. Either a shinigami and a Hollow suddenly joined forces, or…”

Shinji blanched.

“No.”

“Oh yes.” The Captain’s expression was just as grim. “He got overconfident. It’s almost tragic.”

“So we have a shinigami-hollow hybrid capable of killing Aizen, running around Rukongai? When did he get that far with the experiments?”

“Well, you don’t see me sounding any alarms, are you?” Said Urahara, scratching at the back of his head with a pensive expression on his gaunt face. He browsed through several more files in concentrated silence before facing Shinji again.

“Captain Hirako, whatever it was that killed Aizen went on undetected by my most sensitive sensors. As a precaution, the Gotei 13’s current equipment can detect any hollow signature up to the level of Vasto Lorde,” Shinji felt himself pale in horror. “The fact that this new entity was powerful enough to bypass it is… worrying.”

“Yeah, no shit! That’s more than worrying, it’s a nightmare- you desensitized prick, we have to inform the Captain-Commander immediately!”

Urahara’s expression transformed into something entirely punchable.

“Captain Hirako, don’t get alarmed. We should think this through before we rush into action, as of this morning me and a handful of the staff are being investigated for negligence that supposedly resulted in your Vice-Captain’s death. Soon enough the Commander himself will realize the discrepancy between the data saved on the detectors and what supposedly happened.”

Shinji raised his eyebrow. Urahara was right of course, whatever killed Aizen should have raised an alarm in the Twelfth in the eyes of the Gotei, yet the entire division would testify of no such thing. They were prime suspects, and probably Shinji as well simply because the dislike he held for Aizen was an open secret.

“Che, would they go that low?” Central 46, he meant.

“Accusing us of a conspiracy? Absolutely.”

Shinji had to sit down, whatever killed Aizen, fucked everything up real hard.

“So what are we going to do?”

“At the moment? Nothing.” The scientist waved the question off with a flippant wave of his hand. “We can’t track it, so we have to wait for it to act first.”

“We’ll get souls killed.” It was said in a matter-of-fact tone, as if it were inevitable.

“Tell that to Aizen,” The blond Captain gestured vaguely at the various topographic maps of Rukongai. “I need time to figure out some stronger sensors, maybe even make a viable plan of action.”

The Captain of the Fifth shook his head in despair, one more thing to lose sleep over.

“Do that, I have a funeral to attend.” He excused himself with a sigh, and went to make up an excuse for the paperwork to Sarugaki and the Thelfth’s third seat.

“Good luck! Check if he’s really dead, it might be all for nothing, ahaha!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several things to note!
> 
> 1\. PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW, it helps to know what I do wrong/right, quote favourite passages, leave observations. Everything is welcomed!
> 
> 2\. Shinji and Kisuke might appear OOC, but I think that they're marginally different people than what we see in Bleach's timeline. Essentially, Shinji is surrounded by a bunch of non-Shinjis that mess up his vibe and Kisuke is so understimulated that it's almost sad.
> 
> 3\. Also worth to mention is that they don't know each other, at this moment the only thing they have in common is that they knew Aizen was trash. Shinji doesn't even know the full story with the Hogyoku (and Urahara's part in it's creation.)
> 
> 4\. Lol @ the person who bookmarked this as: "Aizen pathetically dead". True, homeboy is mince-meat and I'm pretty sure we all knew what happened there.
> 
> 5\. I haven't chosen any pairings... leave suggestions if you please.


	4. Break into the contents, never falling down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is, the one that ties them all. To be honest, it was difficult to edit this monstrosity, the ideas were there but I couldn't express myself in the way I wanted. Funnily enough I had a dream where the readers evaluated me as an author I got 100% on writing and such (very flattering dream me) but 0% on amiability/friendship with other authors and my readers. Still don't know what it was all about. 
> 
> Also, you might notice a the little timeline just at the beginning, I do hope it makes sense. This is, after all, the chapter that unifies the whole story. It's crucial to understand why Ichigo is the way he is, and also establish the way the main cast could be. 
> 
> Anyways, onward!

**12 Years After the Thousand Year Blood War- 11 Years after the Cleansing- 3 Years after the end of the Conquests**

Soul Society was a husk, from what they saw during the brief moment of confusion where Kisuke wondered if Aizen knew they were there already, and Ichigo thought they were actually dead and just didn’t know it. 

Cracked tiles and skeletons of buildings, rubble the size of sky-scrappers, gouges across the city-landscape that made Seireitei look like wet tissue paper that’s been handled too harshly. Blood, dust, a persistent miasma of death, thin reishi through which one could barely breathe, mind-bending cracks and corrosion from the time  _ the fabric of reality was disintegrating. _

Ichigo stretched his hands above his head, eyes darting from roof to roof, waiting for an Abomination to strike.

“Where to?” Ichigo asked his silent companion after a brief pause to catch their breath after their travel through a malfunctioning Garganta he barely managed to maintain open. The scientist didn’t answer as he looked around, an absentminded hand pulling back the headband that held his blond locks away from his face- Renji got it right, you see? 

“Sokyoku Hill, main base since last year.” Ichigo squinted in the direction Kisuke pointed at. “Aizen is ‘reinventing’ Soul Society from scratch.”

Nothing had changed too much about the main headquarters of the Seireitei since his last visit to Soul Society before it began to erode away, but there was this certain air of smug confidence that was very  _ Aizen _ . The top of the highest tower was his best guess, the fact that it was still standing was itself a miracle.

“That’s where he set camp?”

“More like his summer villa for the rest of eternity, yes. It’s temporary until the situation here stabilizes and Aizen can get to the fun part.”

By situation, Ichigo knew he meant the aftermath of the cleansing. The brutal massacre of any opposition to Aizen’s new realm, which meant the entirety of the Gotei 13- or whatever remained from them. The 'fun part' would be Aizen's imagined vision of what the Soul Society should look like, nothing good in Ichigo's humble opinion.

His eyes met Kisuke’s grey ones, previously shadowed by stupid bucket hats and stray locks. Ichigo traced the scars streaking down the older’s cheeks with his gaze, ugly, yet completely unnoticeable at first glance. Or maybe Ichigo’s just used to it. “Kisuke, promise me we’ll end this?”

“Yes,” The headband was pulled back once again, an odd echo of his previous habits when he still had a hat to hold on to. “I promise. Believe me.”

“Because I-”

The pulse of reiatsu that bursted from the Sokyoku hill was just as crushing as Ichigo remembered. The scientist topled on his side, knees weak from the otherworldly pressure on his soul. Ichigo brushed aside the oppressive signature, cocooning Kisuke's own with his to negate it and helped the scientist up.

“Ah,” The former shopkeeper wheezed. “That would be our invitation to proceed, Ichigo.”

They moved silently through Aizen’s new palace, not stealthily or anything Aizen knew exactly where they were, just in complete silence. Kisuke had been so very clever for this, suicidal with the chance to kill them both, but still absolutely clever. Ichigo gripped the Hogyoku between the layers of his shihakusho tighter as they advanced. Aizen’s inner decor was just as bleak and austere as it was in Los Noches. 

“You can say anything you want about my taste, but white on white is the true sin.”

“Ha,” It wasn’t really a laugh on Ichigo’s side, more like a forceful exhale through the nose to show barely-there amusement. Kisuke bobbed his head at him as if his joke hadn’t fallen flat.

The teen’s attention couldn’t rest on one place, sending furtive glances at every dark corner in the architecture. At this point he couldn’t really rely on instinct alone- nor skill- nor knowledge. Kisuke and Aizen were the ones pulling the strings as of now, Ichigo could only hope to see the big revelation and play the part the puppetmaster assigned him.

“If we’re lucky enough, he’ll still be in the throne room.” Muttered Kisuke when they began to ascend the stairs up the tower’s highest point. 

“And the Abominations?” Kisuke didn’t answer. The Abominations were the prisoners Aizen released from the Maggots Nest, of course. The once innocent shinigami had jumped at the first opportunity to destroy Central 46 and the Gotei for their forceful imprisonment by committing crimes worthy of their sentences. Ichigo didn't know whether he should laugh or cry at the irony.

Their specialty was soul murder- removing the soul from the reincarnation cycle- terrible experiments even Mayuri would turn green at, terrorism, anything and everything that would kill as many shinigami and ordinary souls as possible. Aizen’s motives suited them just fine and the megalomaniac needed an army after murdering all of the remaining Arrancar that came out of the woodwork to serve him.

They really fucked up by alienating the strongest, most rebellious and creative shinigami in the afterlife and it came to bite the entirety of Soul Society in the ass as a result.

“...They won’t show up.”

Ichigo turned towards the scientist in surprise. The corners of Kisuke’s lips quirked up with a knowing look that the substitute shinigami didn’t catch. 

“Are you sure?”

“Aizen is predictable, whether he realizes it or not, he’s been obsessing over us for the last century. Do you think he would pass on the opportunity to take us out once and for all, Ichigo-kun?”

“I suppose not.” They made their way towards the Hokyoku, he wasn’t looking forward to the trip, Seireitei was huge. “And don’t call me -kun, it’s disgusting coming from you.”

Kisuke pulled one of those creepy expressions only he could pull-off before shunpoing a step too far out of Ichigo’s reach. Sometimes it sucked being the only two people left, banter became predictable. At least Shinji used to make hilarious commentaries that would spice-up the monotony. Fuck, he missed his other blond idiot.

Zangetsu stirred from the back of his conscience, reminding him to keep his grief at bay and focus on the mission.

The mission. The mission. The mission.

Aizen was dying. Today. Once and for all. Mark his words.

* * *

They knew where he was instantly. There was no mistaking Aizen’s reiatsu, released in the air under pressure as if through a crack. As if he was holding back to not kill them and strong enough to daze Kisuke and make Ichigo wrinkle his nose in disgust. The (newly made) stone doors of the throne room opened slowly in a way that made the shinigami want to tear his hair out.

And there he was, on that stupid fucking throne.

“Welcome, Kurosaki-kun.” Aizen ignored Kisuke entirely, showing how annoyed he was by his mere presence. Sloppy. Ichigo’s lips stretched into a parody of a smile, blackening sclera reflecting the bastard’s regal pose. 

“Piece of shit.”

The King’s eyelids fluttered in thinly veiled boredom, still preoccupied with the theatrics of it all. The shinigami traitor rose from his seat, strolling idly towards the narrow stairs that led to the ground floor.

“I see you’re as crass as always Kurosaki-kun,” Ichigo didn’t respond, barely even reacting to Kisuke’s sign for ‘hold steady’. “I’m sure you’re  _ dying  _ to play the part of martyr again, but I must-”

Kisuke disappeared from his sight with a silent displacement of air. Aizen, too busy monologuing, got slapped on the face for his troubles with a containment seal that could temporarily ( _ maybe) _ seal away his spiritual pressure. Ichigo followed soon after with a lightning-quick burst of shunpo that would’ve made Yoruichi proud. He reached the incapacitated shinigami and leaned closer, fishing the Hogyoku from his shihakusho.

Ichigo was under a time limit, but that suited him just fine- all he had to do was to take the Hogyoku and- 

“Did it feel good to kill them?” He whispered, almost if from no volition of his own.

“Ichigo!” The teen ignored his mentor’s urgent shout. Kisuke shunpoed at his side, further immobilizing Aizen with an iron grip around the man’s wrists that was tighter than the actual magnum opus of sealing kido maring two thirds of that smug face. The former shinigami Captain’s pupils widened in fear,  _ he was finally afraid from Ichigo as he should be from the moment he touched what was his. _

“I bet you felt really powerful when you cut all those people from the reincarnation cycle  _ forever. _ ” Ichigo mused. He wasn’t a violent soul, Kurosaki Masaki raised a gentle boy, fit for his name of protector, but that gentleness was taken from him piece-by-piece by the scum in front of him. The razor-sharp edge of Zangetsu rested on Aizen’s worthless neck, ready to get drenched in blood.

Zangetsu screamed like a rabid animal ready for a fight, and the usually calm part of his mind that told him it was a terrible idea to let himself be led by his Hollow instincts remained suspiciously silent. A calloused hand rested on his knuckles, white from the force with which he held Zangetsu’s hilt. Kisuke’s worried eyes landed on his face.

“Ichigo  _ please _ ,” Kisuke was begging, he’s never seen Kisuke beg. Simper and offer false promises, yes, but never beg. “Please,  _ please,  _ end it now.” 

_ Or I will,  _ went unsaid _.  _ Ichigo was selfish enough to prevent that, either he died or Kisuke did.

**And he was done letting those he was supposed to protect die.**

The Hogyoku crumbled under his fingers into fine dust as if it was made for it.

* * *

_ Ishida died in the foyer of his house, Ichigo remembered the report by heart. Ishida who had all but retired from the Quincy life (and the war) at the ripe-old age of nineteen was found dead- skewered and dismembered- late at night after he returned from cram school all the way in Tokyo. _

_ They never found a plus close to the body, and the funeral was held by Ryuuken in a small outpost they held during the first sieges on Seireitei. Ichigo didn’t cry but Renji did- the time these two spent when the Gotei could still spare supervisors for the ex-Vandenreich under probation ended in something Ichigo himself couldn’t quite explain.  _

_ Whatever it was, it **ended** right then and there.  _

* * *

_ Two months later the examining board at the Bunka Fashion College, wondered why one of their most promising candidates didn’t come for the admission exams. _

* * *

_ Ichigo stared wide-eyed as Renji’s severed head rolled down the street of Seireitei. Red hair fanned around his slack features like a fierce hallo against the white of soul society. His body was tossed at Ichigo's feet like a bag of trash, the substitute almost joined him on the floor. _

_ Rukia screamed somewhere behind him, rallying the troops around them- urging them to retreat because Aizen was a one-man army and he was approaching fast-  _ **_and Renji what were you thinking by attacking him head on? Oh my god, Renji- Renji’s dead!_ **

_ He was thinking that it could buy them time to escape from the ambush, Rukia would puzzle out after a bottle of sake. The Famine of 2023 meant there was no food, but booze was prevalent as well as free time. _

_ Byakuya went mute until the end, after he found out what happened, Ichigo simply pressed Renji’s replacement badge he liked to store under his futon (they all got their quirks, Ichigo wrote letters for Karin and Yuzu that they would never read and Renji became obsessed with propriety) into the frigid hands and hoped the Vice-Captain didn’t die in vain. _

* * *

_ Ichigo did cry when Rukia died, and not one shinigami from his squad dared to give the report on exactly how it happened. He never found out- and maybe it was better that way. _

_ He didn’t lose his men’s respect either, surprisingly.  _

_ Soi Fon, in all of her scorned glory, found him with his face in his hands, trying to hide his tears in vain. _

_ "What do you want." He croaked, not bothering with wiping his face from the evidence. "We have an hour of preparation until Shinji comes from his outpost." _

_ “You were supposed to be one of the strong ones.” She spat. “Look at yourself.” Yoruichi’s death didn’t alleviate her bitterness in the slightest. In fact, Ichigo knew it made her turn all the negative feelings she bottled up into a vicious and guttural  _ **_hate_ ** _ towards everyone and everything- at least staying on this side would ensure she would get to see Aizen’s Abominations die. Nothing else mattered- not even her comrades- she once massacred her entire battalion in a fit of rage after a failed campaign. _

_ Ichigo swung at the Onmitsukido, feeling accomplished when his fist connected with her jaw. The Captain of the Second raised her head in satisfaction, despite the odd tilt of her lower mandible and let the crowd part in front of her like the red sea, her in riling him up finished. _

_ No one told him what happened and he didn’t ask. _

* * *

_ Rukia led one of the last lines of defence against Aizen and the army of Abominations. With her and her squad gone, their last stronghold in Soul Society fell, Ichigo and Shinji had to return from Hueco Mundo with their own battalions to help evacuate the remainder of the Gotei to the human world. _

* * *

_ Ichigo had his… moments. Rare and far in-between, but everyone worried when they happened. In certain occasions the line between ‘the blade is me’ and ‘we are the blade’ blurred, and he would catch himself speaking in plural as if he were sharing his body with all of the other fragments of his soul.  _

_ The Vizard, Kisuke and Yoruichi- hell, even Toshirou of all people spoke to him softly after the fits (more like episodes), with calm tones and gentle touches that were so weird he thought Aizen chose to take Kyoka Suigetsu out of his ass and use the poor thing again. He didn’t know when he became glass in their eyes. _

_ Grimmjow, on the other hand, was refreshing. The substitute cum captain could rely on that asshole to treat him to a fair fight. Sure, it definitely wasn’t the same as before, Grimmjow understood the concept of  _ **_responsibility_ ** _ and _ **_saving one’s strength_ ** _ before anything else. It was tough being King- and even tougher fighting a war, yet oddly natural for the blue panther. _

_ Neliel was a godsend too, and she treated him like a protegé more than anything else, the shinigami supposed it was payback for that time when she was a kid with a cracked Hollow mask and he still stuck around. _

* * *

_ The news of Inoue’s death reached him a little after Ishida’s. Her squad was a last bastion of hope- a promise of a future they could strive for, compromised of healers (like Hanatarou who quickly learned to be a vicious little bastard and go for the tendons with that scalpel of his) and a few appointed members of the remaining Kuchiki bloodline, tasked mainly to preserve what little had survived from the clan’s libraries for the future generations- if there were any. _

_ Essentially useless to the war effort and as such hidden away in Canada or the whereabouts, just as Ichigo liked it. The bottomline he could gather from the reports was that Aizen had gone for them as a statement. Maybe it was also a slight fear of what could happen if Orihime were to realize her full potential, maybe it was that perfectionist streak he had shown since he took the throne. Maybe he wanted to crush them in mind just as in body. _

* * *

Ichigo woke up slowly, feeling groggy and disoriented. He lay motionless wherever he was- hard surface, rather cold- when something decided to tickle his nose. Ichigo swiped at the offending entity, sputtering when something tried to get in his mouth. He opened his eyes, the blue butterfly that had landed on his nose flew away in the weird little flutter the fragile insects did.

Ichigo looked around. He hadn’t entered his inner world in months, years really. He didn’t need to meditate to connect with his zanpakuto; they were as in tune with one another as a soul could be with itself. Kisuke called it revolutionary, Ichigo called it common sense. 

The midday sun rays beat down on his head, heating the orange hair until he chose to move. Another butterfly flew by him, this time yellow. Then a pair of bees, heading to the patches of wildflowers grown onto the concrete.

“Well, well, well, look at what the cat dragged in.” Ichigo whirled around.

“I see you two have made yourselves comfortable.” Comfortable indeed. From somewhere, Ichigo didn’t want to imagine from where really, the Hollow had procured two lounging chairs to sprawl on. Well, the albino was sprawling in full sunbathing regalia, the Old Man simply stood under the umbrella, watching on stoically. 

“We’re on eternal vacation from now on, don’t call us ever again for anything.” Zangetsu cackled, tilting his sun hat over his face.

“Our mission is done, Ichigo, Aizen is no more. The rain stopped.” The Old Man looked around the landscape with something akin to contentment.

“Wait. Aren’t we dead?” Ichigo looked around as if his inner world would begin to crumble any second.

Hollow-yellow eyes peeked from under the straw hat brim. 

“Do we look dead?”

“I-”

“You.” The Hollow mocked, before sobering up. “It’s over.”

Ichigo didn’t know what to think. Living wasn’t in his plans, Kisuke left it perfectly clear that there wasn’t any chance of surviving the Hogyoku. He was supposed to die killing Aizen, and Kisuke would stay behind as the next Soul King. Ichigo considered hi the perfect candidate, the former Captain was intelligent, resourceful, and experienced, he would make Soul Society better than it ever was and better than whatever Aizen wished to make it.

“... I don’t understand.”

“Do you have to?” Zangetsu blinked lazily, a cup of something blue and clear appearing in his bone-white hand. “Sit, rest, just be for once. When’s the last time you simply sat and did nothing since you were seventeen?”

Ichigo obeyed his zanpakuto numbly, lifting his legs on the lounging chair besides Zangetsu, black shinigami shihakusho and all.

“See,” The Hollow sighed, “It’s good.”

It was, in a sense. Ichigo’s former concrete jungle had transformed into a post-apocalyptic landscape from an american movie. With wild animals all around, hiding between overgrown flora that weaved through the cracks in the concrete. His landscape was more green than glass, countless sky-scrappers crumbled in pieces and waterlogged from the bottomless abyss below. Ichigo could see lakes, forests, flowery plains and herds of animals as far as his eyes could see. It was peaceful, maybe a bit lonely.

The Old Man said that it was the sign of change every shinigami should experience but never did, Zangetsu said it was a metaphysical manifestation of his ‘pussyness’ despite being the first to get buck-naked and dive in the lake a few meters away. Ichigo considered it the aftermath of months of rain and several mental break-downs that resulted in copious earth-quakes.

“Just don’t fall asleep, if you fall asleep you’ll wake up.” Rumbled the Old Man, black cloak merging with the shadows of the umbrella.

The shinigami furrowed his brows in confusion at the contradictory statement before falling unconscious. 

“Eeeeh, at least we survived whatever the fuck was Urahara’s experiment.”

“A low bar, indeed.”

* * *

Waking up to Aizen’s ugly mug and his goons wasn’t fun. Letting Zangetsu take over was, but in the end it didn’t help the confusion. The only logical conclusion was that he finally lost it. Killing the shinigami himself was regretful, but justified, anyone in league with Aizen by their own volition- or even under Kyoka Suigetsu’s influence was just as dangerous.

Ichigo extended his own reiatsu after Aizen’s died a pitiful death, tilting his head in surprise after sensing two more signatures. No Kisuke in sight. The two little candle flames were weak and underdeveloped- almost starving- but certainly strong. He didn’t think anyone like that survived the cleansing, the Abominations were thorough.

Even more surprisingly were the thousands of signatures far in the distance, bright like stars and so familiar Ichigo wept. Maybe there was an afterlife after the afterlife. 

* * *

It turns out that no, they weren't dead, Kisuke just sucked at being honest. The puzzle pieces fit snugly once one got in the scientist’s mindset. The former Captain had lost hope. Soul Society was irreparable, and it was better to begin anew.

_ Was it? _

They already did half the job- well, three quarters really. Yhwach was dangerous as Aizen’s tool, and killing him a century before he reached his full power was as easy as pie. Plenty of time to do plenty of work.

_ Should they do it? _

Zangetsu shrieked ‘yes’ from the melded consciousness that was them-Ichigo-Zangetsu-OldMan-them, and Ichigo didn’t disagree, so they refrained from using ‘we’ when referring to themselves as they spoke with the brats and Ichigo scrubbed through the darkest recesses of his memory that held some knowledge of healing kido.

They babysat the future shinigami all the way through Rukongai, and tried to get their shit together and make plans. Realistic plans- plausible plans that can  _ work  _ with minimum meddling. For all his bullheadedness, Ichigo recognized the Old Man’s foresight in letting the Hollow deal with glasses. Being undetectable had its perks when the enemy couldn’t sense every living soul in the universe.

Soul Kings suck.

A week passed and they- Ichigo, already feeling more like himself and not a hivemind, Ichimaru and Matsumoto- reached the first District. Rangiku had bawled at the food in her hands, sightless eyes trying their hardest to find Ichigo’s location for what he presumed to be a strangling hug. Ichimaru just... looked. Not at the food or the strange sights around him, but at Ichigo. The icy blue eyes held a strange spark in them, Ichigo balked. It was- gratefulness and devotion- something that made him break down in sweat and avoid Ichimaru’s gaze. He didn’t want the brat's misguided loyalty, especially when he was going to disappear on him and never see him again.

They parted ways as Ichigo tried to suppress his feelings of guilt to no avail, but he knew the two would find their way one way or another. And he let himself feel a little indulgent when he promised himself to check up on them when everything was done and over with. Maybe-  _ maybe-  _ he could get some closure.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dropped the ball, you guys. This feels very mediocre from the previous chapters, I'm almost ashamed. I hope you enjoyed because writing this felt like squeezing bobba out of a regular straw, it sucks.
> 
> Do you think Kisuke really lost hope about the future, hmm? Speculate, make your theories! 
> 
> Also yes, I did make Uryuu a fashion designer, Kubo can suck it with the doctors- it's almost depressing. He planted the idea but didn't want to commit like the PUSSY he was. 
> 
> Well, grudges aside, I hope you enjoyed and I hope you leave a review!


	5. Don't try to live so wise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Head empty, no thoughts. Why use many word when few word do trick?
> 
> More words down ↓

The white sands of Hueco Mundo shifted. Ulquiorra had seen it all, moon that never waned over dunes that never changed. Unmoving air. Eternal night. Green eyes blinked, catching a small movement deeper into the Menos Forest. Most unusual, since every Hollow here knew this was his territory. The Vasto Lorde stalked forward, catching a glimpse of a color he’d never seen before. Brighter than any of the other Hollows’ muted palettes, certainly nothing like Ulquiorra’s own bone-white.

“Gotcha.” Before the Vasto Lorde could even think of using sonido, a long, flesh-coloured arm gripped his chin in a steel-like grip. The Hollow- no, the _predator_ in front of him peered into his eyes with curiosity. The being’s hair, tied in a braid of that same burning color swayed in the air in a hypnotizing manner. Ulquiorra closed his eyes. Maybe the being in front of him could be an answer to the Emptiness inside him, if he closed his eyes perhaps…

Despite his deepest instinctual desires, Ulquiora didn’t run, he didn’t flinch, and he didn’t move to attack. He did, however, keep his eyes open. His reiatsu stilled like he’d seen some other Hollows do in dark caves. Ulquiorra never understood what they did inside, but he knew very well how vulnerable it made them. Ready for the grabs, even. He was going to be consumed like the prey he was, wasn’t he?

“Oh, I would recognize those eyes everywhere,” The being with the burning hair tilted his head from left to right, as if seeing something only he could. Ulquiorra didn’t protest. “Say, would you like to be able to speak, smell, hear and touch in exchange for your services?”

It was a casual question, amiable and even Ulquiorra might have fallen for it, but there wasn’t any feasible scenario in which he could say no and get out of it alive. That creature in front of him was more powerful than any Hollow he’d ever seen.

So he shook his head in affirmative.

The being scowled, but Ulquiorra didn’t know what a smile was and thus the discrepancy was lost on him.

“We’ll work on that, you emo bastard.” The being grumbled, a twitch of that powerful hand drove two of the being’s fingers in the underside of his chin. White-hot pain, unlike anything he’s ever felt before raced up his spine to the hollow in his chest. 

“I’m sorry, I know it hurts.”

He closed his eyes, the Emptiness would be gone soon enough.  
  


* * *

Surprisingly enough, Ulquiorra woke up.

The razor-sharp edges of the crystal trees gleamed above him as his sight cleared. He tried to stand up, groaning as his muscles gave away under his weight. Except…

“Huh.” The grunt came out unbidden, clumsy. It made sense since he’s never had vocal chords to begin with, let alone the will to use them. His hand, his pale but remarkably humanoid hand, rose to his throat where he could feel soft flesh instead of bone. His fingers tingled, unused to any sensation at all, and suddenly Ulquiorra was painfully aware of the small puffs of air he exhaled.

“It feels nice, right?” It felt strange, not nice. The Emptiness was still there, it hadn’t disappeared either, Ulquiorra almost felt disappointed.

The Vasto Lorde swerved around so fast his newly uncovered neck almost snapped. The being remained seated in his relaxed pose, two massive zanpakutos propped at his side. Ulquiorra stared.

“You’ll get used to it.” The being tilted his head to the side. “My name is Ichigo, by the way.”

“Ichigo… sama.” The Vasto Lorde muttered, voice creaky from being unsed.

The newly named Ichigo scowled, a calloused hand coming up to scratch at the back of his head. 

“Don’t call me that, it’s just Ichigo.”

“Ichigo-san.”

“You know what? Fine, we'll work on it, you damn bat.” Ulquiorra didn’t know what was a bat.

“What am I?”

Ichigo-sama tilted his head, to the side, wondering how to explain the concept of shinigamification to someone who probably didn’t know what a shinigami was.

“I broke your mask,” He settled with bluntness, something akin to amusement settling in his chest at the Vasto Lorde’s widening eyes. “When a Vasto Lorde or an Adjuchas break their masks- or have someone break their masks for them, they ascend beyond the limits of Hollows, and they become part shinigami, which means that you have some shinigami powers.”

Ichigo-sama pointed somewhere at Ulqiorra’s side. The Hollow turned to the place his new… master? King? Boss? He’ll figure it out later. To his surprise (as much surprise as the embodiment of Emptiness could feel) a single katana lay innocently on the sand beside him. Ulquiorra inspected the new object, pressing his black-tipped finger on the cold metal. 

“What is this?” He asked with a hint of wonder.

“It’s you- your zanpakuto.” Ichigo-sama said, patting the two black behemoths at his side for emphasis. The two blades clinked musically against the slight force. “If you want to get stronger all you have to do is to learn more about it, its name, its abilities, whatever.” The supposed shinigami waved his hand dismissively. 

Ulquiorra took the weapon in his pale hands, luke-warm flesh growing cold as the blade sucked in his new-found warmth. Something light landed on his head, getting entangled with the single protruding horn on top of it. He turned a questioning gaze towards his new master.

“Get dressed. We’re on a schedule.”

Ulquiorra did as told with slight difficulty, the pieces of fabric Ichigo-sama had handed were loose and comfortable, but the weird texture felt odd against his skin and he had to get help from Ichigo-sama when it came to the sleeves of the upper garment. He wondered why it was required of him to wear such things, but he didn’t dare ask the long-haired man. 

“What is this?” He asked as they were well on their way to their new destination and out of the Menos Forest. Ichigo-sama turned with furrowed brows, his eyes landing on the part of the sleeve Ulquiorra was pointing at. 

“It’s a sleeve,” He deadpanned. The answer didn’t feel right to Ulquiorra, but he chose to stop his questioning there. It was like Ichigo-sama’s hair, but not quite. Kind of familiar, yet completely new. Maybe it was something only he could see.

* * *

They jumped across the desert, uncaring of the minor Hollows that tried to swipe at them with clumsy claws, long tentacles and many other types of appendages. They’ve been traveling for an undetermined amount of time, Ulquiorra suspected that Ichigo-sama was looking for something rather than reaching a fixed destination. 

The search proved to be frustrating, yet Ichigo-sama didn’t give up. They made loops, they turned back on their tracks, they changed directions completely, yet they never found out what they were searching for. Ulquiorra thought that his new Master would get tired soon enough, but that day never seemed to come.

In the meanwhile, Ulquiorra trained. He learned the name of his blade and he got used to activating it. Ichigo-sama taught him different things from reiatsu control, no matter how inept at it he proclaimed himself to be, to faster Sonido. Other things like Ceros and his Pesquisa came naturally to him. Eventually he would be powerful enough as Ichigo-sama’s tool no matter what.

* * *

"Stop." 

Ulquiorra barely had the time to grind to an uneven halt a hair away from Ichigo-sama's broad back. The man stood silently, observing what seemed to be a pack of Gillian far beyond their range of his Pesquisa. Unimpressed, Ulquiorra wondered if that was his master's target.

It seemed to be so, because as soon as the pack seemed to stop Ichigo-sama commanded him to flare his reiatsu.

A little puzzled by the strange request Ulquiorra released a fraction from his iron-tight control. The Gillian scrambled, running in the opposite direction of them as if that would save them.

"Wait, hold on." Ichigo-sama murmured, his hand holding Ulquiorra back as he prepared himself to pounce on the pitiful prey. "Hide your reiatsu back."

"Master, I-" Ichigo-sama grimaced, pulling him back insistently.

"We warned them that we're here, it was a courtesy to show good faith." He peered into Ulquiorra's eyes. "We want _him_ on our side."

Ulquiorra fell back, completely bewildered by Ichigo-sama's motives. The cattle a mere dune away was of no use to his Master, why would he want them?

"Understood."

"Alright. Let's go." They disappeared in a flash of Sonido, purposefully popping in front of the small pack of Hollows.

The one in the middle, a feline-like creature with electricity in his eyes snared and barked at his Gillian minions to scram. Ulquiorra didn’t notice before but the Hollow was an Adjuchas whereas the rest were even lower on the food chain. He didn’t speak, waiting for Ichigo-sama to do whatever he needed to just behind him in a show of reverence. It was easy to look up once you’ve been the only one capable of looking.

“Grimmjow,” Ichigo-sama uttered. Curious, Ichigo-sama knew this individual yet the Adjuchas startled as if his Master knowing the creature’s name was unexpected. 

“How do ya know my name?” The Hollow sneered, violence and aggression written all over his tense muscles.

“I’ve been watching you for some time, you want to become a Vasto Lorde, right?”

It didn’t answer, which was promising in Ulquiorra’s opinion, at least it wasn’t stupid.

“I know you’ve reached your limit a long time ago, your power hasn’t increased in a while.” Ichigo-sama pressed on. It reared in offence, yet Ulquiorra could see it clearly, no matter how many Hollows it consumed it could never become a Vasto Lorde. 

“And what do ya know shinigami? I’d rip ya ta shreds but I doubt it would be of any use.” Ichigo-sama merly tilted his head to the side. It was true, but that was because Ichigo-sama’s power was so great that normal creatures like him aren’t able to detect it. The Hollow was fooling itself if it thought that the absolute lack of reiatsu meant anything else than a power beyond the range of his Pesquisa.

“What if I could help you gain more power?” Ichigo-sama asked. It barked in laughter, an ugly serrated sound that made something stir in the back of the Vasto Lorde’s mind. 

“How?” Was the sceptic question. “You’re just a shinigami, I eat your kind for breakfast.” The Hollow was tempted by Ichigo-sama’s offer despite its air of feigned nonchalance. 

His master tilted his head in his direction, Ulquiorra nodded, catching the creature’s considering look. He released the tight control he had on his reiatsu, blinking as the Hollow’s muscle-heavy body topled on the sandy floor. 

“Stop.”

Ulquiorra obeyed sure that his Master had a plan.

Ichigo-sama loomed over the creature.

“Do you understand what I’m talking about? I can give you the power to become King.” Ulquiorra observed in wonder as the single electric eye widened in shock. “All I have to do is take your mask, and a favor from you.”

A tanned hand reached under the feline muzzle, brushing against the smooth bone of the Hollow’s under-chin only to withdraw slowly. He was tempting it, Ulquiorra realized. They waited for the creature’s decision.

“What about my pack?”

“They can come if they help us, of course.”

“Help you with what, shinigami?”

“An old enemy. He is the easy part,” Ichigo-sama said with an air of confidence that wasn’t wholly uncharacteristic. “But I need to get rid of his cronies first before he awakens and kills other people.”

“Che, as if I give a shit about your wars. Fight them yourself if you’re so strong.”

Ichigo nodded thoughtfully as if what Grimmjow was saying made complete sense. Ulquiorra couldn’t understand why his Master wasn’t killing the cattle for disobeying him like he should. 

“Alright, thought it’s a shame, I knew you could be King.”

Ulquiorra sincerely doubted that, but the brute seemed to believe Ichigo-sama wholeheartedly, so he didn’t dare interrupt the masterful manipulation at play. 

They turned to leave. No more than ten meters away a white blur stopped in front of them.

“Alright, shinigami. Take us with you.”

Ichigo-sama almost smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to make this chapter much, much longer, but I thought it was overkill and too much pressure for my already frayed nerves so have this poorly formatted monstrosity, enjoy and please leave a comment. 
> 
> Only comments can sustain me.


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